


Seven Chapters of Trucks n' Vans

by GreenHat97



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Calling all Trucks n' Vans people I got some food for ya, Can't remember half this shit and I'm not going to reread it., Christmas Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Please excuse the quality. This garbage is at least 3 yrs old, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex, Rough doesn't fit and I know "french kissing" would have to include Spy somewhere...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenHat97/pseuds/GreenHat97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Sniper/Engineer fics that I thought some would appreciate. The only ship I liked in the fandom before my passion burned out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece from...what, 2013? RED vs. BLU centric.

Dell’s hands shook slightly as he locked the door behind him. He’d forwent his goggles, it was fairly dim in the basement. The musty smell clogged his sinuses, and he held back a sneeze. A dull pain in his skull was the result of this, but he ignored it.

His team warned him about the prisoner, hoping that he'd stay away from him. He was craftier than he looked, and he was mad enough to attack their Soldier when he was armed with his shotgun. It ended when the prisoner had wrenched it from his hands, hit him in the face with it, and smashed it on the hard concrete. That wasn’t to say the man hadn’t retained a large, bloody hole in his side.

Dell hopped down the stairs, his arm wrapped around medical kit, and carefully stepped over the pieces of the shattered weapon. Two sharp, gleaming eyes watched his every movement. They were deep blue in color, two shards of sapphire just daring him to come closer. Chills ran up his spine. He was amazed. Even when he was bleeding, hunched over and squashed in a corner, the RED Sniper still managed to be intimidating.

Dell froze in his tracks. He couldn’t be that crazy, could he? He hoped not. He didn’t want to occupy the same space with a madman with ridiculous pain tolerance. Now, where to begin?

The nervous mechanic cleared his throat. “So, I heard you got in a tussle with our Soldier.”

The prisoner grinned, teeth flashing in the dark. “Yeah? Anything else, genius?”

“Well, ya jumped ‘im, n’ got yourself shot.”

“Figured that out all on yer own, huh egghead?” the RED spat, impatient with the shorter man. “Got tired of pokin’ me around, so they sent you here t’ bore me t’ death, did they?”

Dell narrowed his eyes. “No. Just thought I’d drop by n’ patch up that hole in yer torso.”

“Oh.” The Sniper huffed, looking at him sideways. “Doc’s too lazy t’ care, or is 'e worried I’m rabid?" 

"Actually, he’s thinkin’ up with some fancy ways t’ cut you open. Unless you wanna end up bein’ a lab rat for a while, you’d better let me have a look at you.”

“Aww, that’s so cute." The RED threw his hands apart. Globs of blood splattered everywhere as a result, smearing the walls and floor. ”I'm loved!“ He exclaimed, laughing in a broken, psychotic timbre.

Had Dell harboured any sort of hatred for the man, he would have wrapped his hands around his scrawny neck and started twisting. Maybe he would have kicked him like the dog that he was until his ribs cracked and his windpipe was crushed. There were thousands of ways he could have thrashed him within an inch of his life, and he’d be able to walk away with no shame at all.

Dell wasn’t that short-tempered. Besides, his team would be cross with him if he killed the Sniper. It was quite a hassle dragging the man down here, even with the Spy’s trickery. Distance was his greatest ally, and even if one did get close enough to see the man’s face he'd already have a blade lodged in his guts. 

He found that fascinating about the marksman. On the rare occasions he saw the man out and about, he looked like a cool, level-headed fellow he wouldn’t mind having a chat with. He was starting to doubt his assumptions; the Sniper wasn’t letting some bullet stop him from laughing at the face of danger.

The marksman finally settled down, shying back into the corner and pressing a hand against his injury. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he seemed to be avoiding the Engineer’s gaze, glancing feverishly around the room for something else to look at.

Dell hung his head in frustration. He was down here because he took pity on the Sniper. He was bleeding out and hos weapons were gone. There wasn’t much he could do. The very least the Engineer could do for him was treat him like another human being, even if he was enemy.

Then when he descended into the underused basement, he found himself afraid of the shadow he sought to help. The easiest thing to do would be to just leave and pretend this never happened, but his conscience was already getting the better of him. Besides, Dell was not a man who ran away.

"Gonna stand around lookin’ pretty all day or are you gonna play nurse?” The prisoner rumbled sarcastically. The mechanic glowered at him. The RED was grinning, as if Dell were an old friend and he wasn’t at the mercy of his enemies. In fact he looked completely at ease, genuinely so.

“Yer nuts," Dell muttered, lowering next to him.

"What kind of nuts?” Sniper chirped, grinning contagiously.

Dell flipped open the medkit. “Cashews. Give or take.”

He had no clue why he decided to humour him like that, but at least the Sniper wasn’t being hostile. Still, his friendliness bothered the short mechanic. He studied the man’s face for a moment, aimlessly shifting his hands in the medicine box. The RED watched attentively, his gaze soft and curious, a sheepish smile lingering on his face. 

“What’re you so relaxed about?” The Sniper looked up, puzzled. His visage alone made Dell’s thoughts fall short. It was like he was about to scorn a puppy for chewing on its own toy. The shorter man broke eye contact, fumbling around with the box again.

“Why do you wanna know?” questioned the Sniper. Dell shook his head. pulling some tweezers out of the box. The marksman flicked at a piece of metal, sending it rolling across the floor. “Already took care of the bullet, mate.”

Dell sighed. “Course ya did.” He set them aside, then pulled out a bottle of antiseptic. The man winced, then looked away. Oh, sure, now he was afraid. “Hey, how’m I supposed ta fix you up when yer not cooperatin’?” No answer. “I’m no mind reader, mister.”

“How do I know that’s alcohol?”

“Mind elaboratin’ a bit?”

“What if that’s some form a torture you blokes have in mind for me? I got shot, hurts like hell, why not make it worse?”

The Engineer popped off the lid. The acrid stench that stung their nostrils was definitely alcohol. “Any other suspicions, partner?”

“Yeah. Keep me alive long enough, n’ your whack job of a nurse’ll start pokin’ me giblets for science.”

“True enough. However,” Dell surveyed the room, staring at every corner just a little longer than he should have. No one needed to hear what he was about to say. Satisfied with what he didn’t see, he turned back to the Sniper. “wouldn’t ya like to get back to yer team?”

The Sniper mulled over his words, making sure he was hearing the Texan correctly.

"What kind of stupid question is that?“ he snarled. "Of course I want t' go back.”

So much for being subtle, but he could have been avoiding what he was implying. Dell decided not to press the subject, started pouring the liquid on a rag. The prisoner glared at him, but Dell paid him no mind. He tugged of the Sniper’s arm, trying to get him to move so that he could start on his injury. Despite his reluctance, the Sniper relented rather quickly.

Dell lifted his shirt past the bleeding indent and pressed the rag against it. The Sniper twitched, but the pain didn’t seem to bother anymore than it already had. 

He snickered. “Thought you didn’t trust me.” The assassin lowered his head. “Aw, now you don’t look like a happy camper.”

Instead of a witty comeback or a colourful insult, he asked,“Wanna know why I did this?” He pointed at his injury.

“Sure thing. Ah, hang on…” Dell took the rag away. Placing it aside, he fished around in the box and dug out a needle and thread. The RED eyed it cautiously, maybe with the slightest hint of fear. Then, slowly, he began to pull off his shirt.

Dell shook his head. “Sniper, you don’t-”

“It’ll be easier,” the man interrupted, then added with a smirk, “'sides, don’t want ya t’ sew my shirt t’ my skin. That’d be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess…” It was chilly down there, and no amount of strength could change the fact that the Sniper was a skinny fellow. The hairs on his arms had already begun to prickle.

There was no point in arguing with him, however, so the Engineer got to work stitching him up (with less resistance than before). “So, what made ya think that fightin’ a crazy man with a gun with your bare hands was a good idea?”

The Sniper grinned. “Well, looking back, it was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?” He sighed, and the shorter man stabbed him deeper than he had intended. The marksman bit his lip when Dell extracted the needle and began again.

“You can talk. Just keep yer breathin’ slow and steady.”

“Right. Sorry." He pondered his next words, wondering how to voice his lopsided reasoning. ” Didn’t like that rocket-hoppin’ tin head aimin’ a gun at me. I’m already defenseless.“

Dell quirked an eyebrow. "Defenseless? Mister, look around you and tell me how defenseless you were.”

The Sniper crossed his arms. "There’s this crazy thing called 'panic.’ Ever heard of it? Makes ya think irrationally.“ He dug his nails into his skin as the Engineer pulled the stitches tight.

"Don’t think I can believe that,” mumbled the short man, “Jane said ya waited 'til he got close enough.” He reached over the shattered components of the gun, retrieving a bent yet intact pair of aviators. The Sniper took them from him, fiddling with the crooked metal bridge.

“Riled me up pretty good, that piker,” he rasped softly, “so I gave 'im the fight 'e was lookin’ for.”

Dell bobbed his head. “And ya won. Pretty impressive, Stretch.”

The assassin began to twist his glasses. “Once yer skilled enough ta rip the teeth out of a live croc, everything gets a whole lot easier.” The sunglasses broke with a brisk snap, and the bushman frowned in despair. He tossed them aside.

The short guy’s pupils widened with curiosity, a thousand questions constructing in his mind. He longed to know more about the smart-mouthed, rough-and-tumble fellow before him, but his time here was done. If he stayed to chat, his team would grow suspicious, and then both of them would be in hot water.

The vents rattled as cool air travelled through them and upstairs to more important places. The hollow, far-away blabber of the BLU team echoed in the narrow tunnel.

Dell started packing up. “Whelp, best be goin’.”

The Sniper stiffened, straightening his posture. “What about yer Medic? I thought y-”

Dell clasped the scrawny man’s shoulder, grinning reassuringly. “Ah, don’t you worry. You’ll be outta here 'fore the night ends.”

He stared at the mechanic, bewildered. “How?”

Still beaming, Dell turned away and made for the door. He picked at some pocket lint in his overalls, and something clinked behind him. He probably stepped on the bullet or something.

* * * * * * *

Jane leered at him with a businesslike glare. “Are you certain you’re up for the task of monitoring that lunatic?”

The Texan flicked at the edge of his hardhat. He suddenly wished that he was wearing his Stetson.

“Soldier, you went down there for ten minutes n’ came up with a busted nose and a few bruises. I was down there for nearly an hour, and there ain’t a scratch on me. How can I not handle it?”

Unable to find anything contradicting to say, the Soldier left him alone. Dell kicked back and began the long, boring job of watching the prisoner. He was hardly a man of patience, so he’d brought a sketch book with him to busy himself. Every now and again he'd glance up from his drawings to see what the RED was up to. At one point he had occupied himself with the broken shotgun, fitting the pieces together like some misshapen puzzle, and another time he was trying to soak up the blood in his shirt with his socks.

The evening rolled around, and most of the mercenaries began to turn in for the night. The Soldier checked up on the Engineer before he went to bed, but Dell had nothing worth mentioning to say about the assassin in their basement. The lack of activity was just as unsettling to the burly American than any, but Dell reminded him that there was no way for the Sniper to dig his way out since he didn’t bring his shovel, and it was impossible for him to fight his way out even if he hadn't bashed the shotgun to pieces.

“There’s nine of us, he’s all by his lonesome,” Dell reasoned, “and the RED Team having one man down put them at a big disadvantage today. If one man tips the scale so severely that it plays in our favor, we’ve got nothin’ ta worry about. Relax.”

Unable to argue, the Soldier left, put at ease with the short guy’s deductions.

The time crawled by at an unbearably sluggish pace. The Engineer was anxious now. What if it didn’t work? What if they were caught? What if the Sniper didn’t bother taking that chance, and he’d wasted his time for nothing?

His eyelids began to droop shut, but nervous energy thrummed in his bloodstream. Time picked away at his sanity, an apathetic witness to his suffering. There was nothing he could do; he’d grown bored of mindlessly doodling blueprints for little gadgets he didn’t have time to build, and running over complex equations in his mind had done nothing to calm his jittering nerves. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears while the rest of him craved sleep.

With nothing to entertain himself with, he stayed in a contradicting pose. His hardhat was tipped over his face, his arms were crossed and he let himself sink into the swivel chair, constantly bouncing his right knee. Half sleeping, half listening. Wary of his surroundings and just plain beat. Thinking and waiting. Thinking and waiting…

A hand tapped his shoulder. Dell shivered awake, then whipped around to witness a tall, looming shadow just behind him.

Deep blue eyes lowered shamefully. “Sorry.”

The mechanic let out the breath he’d been holding. “’S alright. Just startled me." He felt a smile spread across his face. "Don’t’ know how ya do it, waiting in one place for such a long time.”

The assassin reached into his pocket, producing a small key. He held it out to the Engineer. “You dropped this.”

Dell picked it out of his hand. “Much obliged, Stretch. Now get yerself outta here.”

“Yeah, 'bout that,” he rubbed his arm, nervously fidgeting. “don’t know where the exit is.”

Dell crossed his arms, amused. “The bases have the same layout. You’ll find it in the same place as yours.”

“…Place looks haunted. Could you watch my back?”

“Even ghosts need their sleep. No need to look over your shoulder tonight.”

The man gave up. “I wanna talk some more.”

Dell hopped to his feet. “Alrighty, then. Let’s go.”

They lowered their voices, drawing out their steps for as long as possible. They were curious about each other for reasons inexpressible, and it wasn’t strange to either of them that they were more worried about the slumbering base than how comfortable they were around each other. Those occasional glimpses at the other somehow made them less than strangers.

“You never answered my question.” The Sniper tilted his head. Dell clarified, “Why were ya so relaxed?”

"With you? Ah, let’s see…“ The marksman's voice was quiet and gravelly. "It was back at Coldfront. I was keepin’ an eye out for any BLUs weaselin’ around during ceasefire. Not on me own will, mind you. Our Scout thought it’d be the greatest thing in the world to lock me outside. Spy was prolly in on it, too. My keys were gone. So I went up ta one of the cabins t’ do some scoping. I made myself some hot chocolate-not that powdered crap, I melted a candy bar- and then I saw your Scout. He was all draggin’ his feet through the snow, lookin’ bloody exhausted, so I thought I’d see how far he gets before I shoot 'im out of his misery.

"Then there was you. He found you just around the corner playin’ that guitar of yours, and you toss him a quilt or somethin’ of the likes and tell 'im ta rest. Didn’t hear you say it, but I could guess it just by watchin’ you. Maybe it was the weather makin’ me all soft, but for some reason I just couldn’t shoot either of ya.

"You were bein’ so friendly to that pain in the neck that I didn’t want t’ let an act of kindness go t’ waste by shootin’ 'im. You? Well, I wouldn’t be able t’ look in the mirror anymore if I shot ya, even if it’s only temporary.”

So that was it. He had a soft spot for friendly folks. He nudged Dell in the arm. “What about you, little guy?”

Dell was in a pleasant enough mood to ignore the jab at his height. He smiled broadly. “You’re a fascinating individual." Sniper’s jaw fell open. "Ya hardly ever miss anythin’ you’ve got yer eye on, you put up one hell of a fight if our Spy gets close to ya, you’re the crazy man throwin’ urine at everyone an’ running at them with yer knife, and you care enough not to shoot at two fellas stuck in the cold like you. Pretty dang interestin’ qualities you’ve got there.”

"How do you know all this?“ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"The fellas here don’t really like you much. They won’t shut up about 'if the Sniper hadn’t been there’ or 'that guy stabbed me t’ death’ and 'why can’t he just miss for once?’.”

“Oh.”

Dell poked him back. “What’d you think I was gonna say? You looked awful worried there when I opened my mouth." 

The marksman shook his head. "Nothing important.”

They were silent for the rest of the way. There was nothing to talk about, and stories would burn up their short trip and never be finished. So they simply enjoyed the other’s company in the long dark hallways.

“Thanks for gettin’ me out,” the RED mumbled appreciatively, his hand on the door.

“Don’t mention it. N’ I’ll see you in a few days.”

“…I hope not. I’d be doin’ a horrible job stayin’ out of sight.”

“Hey Slim, do you know what auto-balance is?”

The taller man scratched his neck. “Yeah, our Engineer’s mentioned it once or twice. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s when two men on both sides join the opposite team. It’s a way to keep one side from winning too much.” The Engineer stretched his arms, weariness catching up to him. “Don’t make much sense, but that’s what I heard.”

The Sniper’s visage was one of shock. “So…you’re sayin’ you’ll be on my team?”

The shorter man nodded. "Yup.“

He turned away, not knowing how to react. "Well…be seein’ you, then.” He twisted the handle and disappeared into the night.

Dell turned on his heels, whistling a tune as he walked to his room.


	2. One Contemplative Evening In a Camper Van

It happened sometime during the night. Lingering on the edge of a dream, the lanky assassin jolted awake when a sudden pressure rested on his right side.

He nearly began to panic. Being pinned down was one of his few greatest fears. If he was completely immobilized, he could not fight back. He had no control over himself until he was let go, and in that time he was usually reduced to a terrified, pleading mess, begging whoever it was to get off of him.

Now that he was aware of the situation, he was not sure how he felt about it. It was the Engineer who had his arms around him. They draped over the Sniper subconsciously, yet made no move to embrace him. At the very least, the Sniper wriggled his arms free. The short mechanic stirred in his sleep, but he did not awaken.

The shock still lingered, but in truth, there was a small part of him that enjoyed this arrangement. He was fond of the presence at his back, the man’s quiet breathing, someone friendly so close to him…

There was a sort of peace that rose up within him when he was around the Texan. He would look for the light at the end of the tunnel when usually, on his own, he would ignore it. The fire that willed him to fight blazed even hotter than before. He even found himself opening up to others on the team, but he was the most comfortable with the Engineer by far. He did not have to worry about coming off as a sensitive wuss to the man. 

The assassin craned his neck to look at his friend. His face was devoid of any troubles, a perfect picture of serenity. With only a few moments of pondering, the Sniper rolled over, careful not to disturb him.

The Engineer’s eyelids twitched, and they opened. Sky blue orbs studied the other before him.

“Hnnh? Mundy?”

The Sniper said nothing.

His friend blinked owlishly. “Everything okay?”

He tipped his head, grazing his chin against the mechanic’s arm. It was still wrapped around his middle.

The Engineer stammered, "Ah, sorry Stretch. Didn’t mean to… y'know.“

The taller man reached out, pulling the stocky man close. His friend stiffened, then relaxed as he realized what was happening.

"Don’t start something and not finish it." the Sniper grumbled, voice as deep as a monster.

"I thought y'all said professionals didn’t have feelings.” replied the mechanic, smirking.

The marksman took a long, deep breath. “I’m not on the job.”

Yes, he never had to rely on anyone. He never missed. But when life got rough, it did not hurt to have someone there.


	3. Taking a Rest

‘Heavy’s right,’ Mundy thought at some point during his mad dash, 'you can’t outsmart a bullet.’

He heard the rush of a rocket being fired, and he willed his already aching legs to move faster. A panicked blip went up in his brain, and he jumped in its senselessness. 

He was suddenly pitched forward, the world flying past him in a blur. He tumbled to the ground an instant later, bouncing once and skidding to a stop. His legs were dead and his arms stung horribly. He tasted blood and he could not breathe.

'Oh, is that what a rocket jump is like?’ he wondered airily.

The clicks and beeps of a nearby sentry pierced his thoughts. He hastily covered his face, wincing as he heard it spitting bullets. Instead of becoming a punctured, bloody heap on the dirt, they went over him completely. The Soldier behind him screamed in wrathful agony before falling over dead.

The Sniper lifted his head, confused. Dizziness buzzed in his skull before he managed to get a good look at his surroundings, and he laid back down.

"Took a hard tumble there, didn’t ya?“ The Engineer stood over him, holding his fallen hat. 

"I’m fine,” grumbled the Sniper, pushing up on wobbly arms. If he could just stand…nope, his legs were not having any of it.

“Yeah, right.” The Engineer paced around, stopping a little to the left of him. “You need to stop bein’ so stubborn, Stretch. Can you roll?”

The sharpshooter flipped onto his back, wondering why on earth he had to do that. Before he could ask, strong hands slipped beneath him, lifting him from the dusty ground. Immediately he began to struggle, angry at being manhandled and fearful of being dropped.

The Texan was used to this, and he understood the Sniper’s worries. As close as they were, there were still fragments of the man’s personality that remained untamed. He was edgy around most people, reluctant to care for himself, and he threw himself into a fight when he could. Still, that heart of stone had flecks of gold in it.

He pressed his fingers into the man’s spine, and the Australian went slack. Satisfied, the Engineer placed the hat back on its owner and made his way to the dispenser he had set up. He set down his injured friend as gently as possible, watching as he began to relax. 

The raggedy hunter slouched forward, sighing as healing beams swirled around him. That was the funny thing about the all healing energy. It mended bones and sealed up gashes, but it could not cure simple exhaustion.

The Engineer plunked down next to his teammate, and they simultaneously removed their hats. “How well’s the team doin’?”

The Sniper glared out into the distance, then turned to the man beside him. “What are you doin’ way back here, Truckie?" 

He shrugged. "Just thought I'd do some defendin’ if we get rolled over.”

"Gonna be a quiet day for you, mate.“ he grumbled, looking away again. "The cart hasn’t moved since it hit the first point.”

Dell shook his head. He was grateful that the chances of being caught in a hectic storm of lead and explosions were considerably low, but Mick was almost eager to run back into it. That same recklessness got him knocked off his feet, and if that happened twice, he would not make it back here. Respawn or not, every second was crucial to the team’s success. 

“Y'know, you should stay awhile.”

The weary gunman stared at him, and Dell quickly blurted out excuses.

“It’s a good strategy.” he said swiftly. “Yer aim’s fantastic, I’ve got a sentry already upgraded,” he gestured to the flimsy death machine, “the both of us’ll be watchin’ for that dang Spy, and what’s more dangerous than two men who can’t run out of bullets?”

Mundy leaned forward, a tall, menacing shadow that dove towards the shorter man. The Engineer felt something pressing against his shoulder, and he found himself grinning mildly.

It made sense. The Sniper was an opportunist, he happened to be alone with his best friend, so it was okay for him to be a little affectionate. Dell wrapped an arm around him, the scruffy man burying into the crook of his neck.

There was no one to watch them and nothing to fight. In the light of these comforts, the Sniper felt safe. Whatever anxiety or hesitation he had was left behind, and the calmer emotions that dwelled within him were expressed quietly. Words were useless to him when he was flooded with such feelings.

As he basked in warm contentedness, the Engineer took all the time musing about the man using him as a pillow. The marksman did not wear his heart on his sleeve by any means, but he trusted him. He was self-sufficient in every way, but he went to him when he was in danger. He was quiet and lonely, an introvert in every way, yet he wanted to be with him.

Having someone like Mick paying attention to him…well, it made him pretty happy. He was a good man to be around. Loyal, witty, goofy, professional…and caring.

Dell ruffled his hair, too quick for him to mind it much. Watching the watcher did not sound too bad.


	4. Nervous

A moment like this required gentleness and a deep understanding. Words would only sour the heavy tension in the roomy camper. The blinds were drawn, the doors locked, and the van parked far away from prying eyes and curious colleagues. They were alone.

The Engineer pressed against the Sniper, careful not to pin him down entirely. It would not do well to accidentally spook him, as it was difficult enough easing him into this. The Texan briefly wondered how this would affect them later, then quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn’t get ahead of himself.

It was all he could do to refrain from acting too quickly. He could feel the tight panic brewing inside of the marksman. His breathing, quick and shallow, muscles tense, his heart beating like a hummingbird, thrumming in such a way that his own even pulse took up the rhythm. It was evident that waiting any longer would only stress him further.

The small Texan laid his human hand on the slim man’s shoulder, offering a gentle smile. Wary, nervous and wide-eyed, the Sniper ventured a glance at his friend’s arm, trailed his gaze to everything touching him, swallowing when his sapphire eyes stopped travelling. He let out a small sigh, then nuzzled the hand. ‘That’s it,’ thought the mechanic, moving his palm to cradle the man’s jaw.

The Australian opened his eyes, barely having time to gasp as soft, warm lips were placed on his own, muffling any loud sounds that threatened to surface. His heart thumped harder as the Texan moved even closer. His head swam with panic, euphoria and love, coherent thought morphing into a cloudy, babbling mush. He was vaguely aware of his stiffening body, how painful it was, so he forced himself to relax, melting into the shorter man’s passion.

The Engineer caressed his cheek, and his jaw slackened. The flickering heat in his stomach billowed when a thick tongue probed an entry. He placed his shaking hands on the Texan’s sides to steady himself, writhing as the appendage brushed his cheek, the roof of his mouth, over his tongue, and even tickled the back.

When he pulled away, his eyes were soft and bright, his smile still present, yet noticeably faint. The Sniper, however, was half-lidded and mellow, lust and longing keeping him sluggish. The Texan smirked, just a little bit, but his friend had some trouble articulating his emotions properly. At any rate, however, he seemed to have enjoyed the kiss, otherwise he would have been pushed away. So, he became a little more daring.

He leaned forward, drawing the marksman in for a slow, quick kiss on the lips, then surprised him by moving lower. He let those long, lanky arms pull him in, as he pressed small kisses into his neck. He took his time, for himself and for his partner. Quiet, unbidden whimpers elicited from the Sniper’s throat, and the Engineer would pause, feeling the little sounds buzz underneath his skin.

At some point, he stopped entirely, partly because his head was spinning, mostly because his friend needed to breathe. The short mechanic closed his eyes, leaning into the Australian’s collar, listening to him take long droughts of oxygen. He snickered, and apparently, his deep laughter made the assassin go limp with dread. Oh, did he think that they were done?

His left hand skimmed down his shirt, stubby fingers working at the first three buttons. He undid them backwards, up instead of down. The marksman trusted him from the murky depths of his beating heart, true, but at the moment, he was very flighty. Anything unpleasant to the man would make him lash out in fear. He didn’t want that. Not at all.

He looked up at his friend to check on him. He was leaning his head back on the ratty couch, mouth parted in a silent moan, his nostrils flaring with each breath he took, eyes closed blissfully, his face dusted red from all the physical contact. The Engineer couldn’t bring himself to look away, not when his friend looked so beautiful. And knowing that he was the cause of it? The fact alone made something pleasant stir deep within.

The arms encompassing him began to move in small, wave-like motions up and down his back. The Sniper was now staring with pleading eyes, yearning for more yet too bashful to speak. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to keep him waiting, and he was all too happy to oblige.

He parted the man’s shirt collar and nestled the bone underneath. The hands at his back curled into fists. The lanky man trembled in his grip, straining to keep quiet, his will betraying him at a sharp nip between his neck and shoulder. No, he wasn’t going to let the Sniper breathe softly. He was going to make him yelp and howl and growl, coax a moan or seven out of him. The Texan wanted to wring out as many sounds of pleasure as he could out of the modest sharpshooter, and they were going to be loud.

His friend became ravenous, and the Sniper found himself on the edge of his mind. He may have been on the receiving end, it may have been laughable that he was losing his mind now instead of in bed, but even in the thick heat of lust he could feel his nerves settling. Now the seeds of pride were stirring, demanding why he wasn’t in charge, but they were tame, and he was apathetic to their pleas. He would tend to them later.

He was busy, thrashing around in the tide, the flames turning electric in each place the Engineer planted a kiss. The lightning turned to ice where skin was caught between teeth, melting when a velvety tongue soothed the new mark. Sometimes the fire would stay, his boiling blood flocking towards some stinging pressure, and a wordless airy thought told him that spot would bruise later. It only made him more giddy.

He was amazed that behind the Engineer’s amiable, sensible disposition there lied a creature so vicious and gentle, drowning anyone in its passion if it were to be set free. The Texan knew how to drive him mad, how to make forever last a lifetime, and if cries of want were trapped in his throat, he would draw them forth with a clever flick of his tongue.

They were like that for a long time. The sounds in the camper van rose and fell, from yawps to groans to husky growls and desperate keens, some of them needy, others encouraging. The Engineer spread his attention to every inch of exposed flesh that he could get to, while the Sniper leaned back, drinking in every sensation.

Then, slowly, when teethmarks lined the marksman’s clavicle and a large, wet bruise settled just beneath his Adam’s apple, the shorter man peeled away to admire his work. His partner was red up to his ears, as he expected, but was completely expressionless. He frowned, counting the welts and hickeys on his heaving chest.

The Engineer cleared his throat. “Stretch?” his voice wobbled, the tone deeper than usual. “Y'alright?”

His eyes flew open, and he shot upright, tilting the mechanic’s chin and kissing his lips. It happened so quickly that it almost didn’t register. His eyebrows were skyward, though.

The Sniper was beaming, blue eyes twinkling with affection. That smile of his stretched a mile wide, and his rosy cheeks made it so perfect. It was such a look of genuine love, that it nearly made the Texan's heart stop.

He returned the look with a tender grin, understanding. The Sniper was not a man of many words, but sometimes he did not need to say anything at all. Perhaps, later in the week, they would grow bolder, taking things a little further than this. At the moment, however, they were content with burying into each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was hot shit for dodging porn here. That's what you get from a highschooler, I guess. There's porn next chapter, though, if you're looking for it.


	5. Calm and Lusty Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Dicks. First porn ever.

Cool, damp air seeped through the shoddy window panes. The Sniper felt goosebumps spreading, and he pulled the covers closer to his stubbled face. He shivered, thinking about what it would be like if he were out in his van. By now he would probably be on the floor, cocooned in a bunch of quilts, listening to his home battle the harsh, watery blizzard.

A sudden clap of thunder shattered his thoughts, and he was afraid. The storm was troubling him, roaring and snarling like the beasts from his past. Yes, he was grateful that he was not out tonight. Thunder Mountain was living its legacy.

He peered over his shoulder at the man beside him. Engineer had offered him to stay the night so that he wouldn’t have to go. To others, the arrangement was simply one of courtesy. Compassion played a part in it, as well as a strong need for company, and something ancient that made all living beings afraid of the dark. 

The Engineer was breathing steadily, but he wasn’t relaxed enough to be truly asleep. If anything, he was likely staring at the window, watching fat droplets slip down the glass. A small ache wormed into his chest, and Sniper rolled over, lightly touching his tall frame against the shorter man’s spine. His friend shifted closer, one hand reaching back and twining their fingers together. The Sniper hummed contentedly, relaxing into the sinking mattress.

He drifted in and out of sleep, listening to the rain churn the earth into a heavy loam. After an immeasurable amount of time had passed, Engineer pulled his arm across his chest. Whether he mistook it to be the covers or he did so out of affection, the marksman could not say, so he let it be. Then, his friend’s digits wrapped around his wrist. The hand guided him down, lower and lower, pressing his palm against something particularly warm…

…and ever so slightly stiff.

He shot up, the mattress protesting with squeals of agony. The Texan was just as quick, catching one of his arms and grasping the marksman’s shoulder to keep him balanced. They glared at each other, and Sniper noticed the flame in his friend's sky blue orbs. He looked desperate and scared, aggressive yet concerned, more than a thousand words to say but at a loss for them.

The Sniper was not. In fact, nothing had ever been clearer, the ice in his veins putting sense in it all.

“Truckie,” he said in a frazzled grumble, "what’re ya up to?“

He already knew the answer. It was apprehension that made him ask.

Engineer’s face went from one of confliction to a visage of worry. He swallowed, the soft pop of spit barely audible. He grabbed the assassin's left leg, positioning it against himself. He bent it at the knee so that it encompassed him, and then, pressing forward, lightly touched their groins together. 

Sniper’s heart began to race, blood and warmth pooling between his thighs. His privates were suddenly awake, throbbing in time with the Engineer’s.

The desperate mechanic’s other hand trailed along his sideburn. The bushman leaned forward, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Even though it was dark, he swore he saw his friend get red in the cheeks.

Well…it was a nice invitation. Why let it go to waste?

"Wait,” he hissed, prying out of his grasp. When the shorter man made no attempt to reach for him, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He put his feet on the floor and took a few steps. 

The marksman heard him jump out of bed. It was understandable, he had just pushed him away and strode over to the door. A sliver of panic shot through him then, and he paused, his large hand hovering over the doorknob. 

They were taking a chance. Someone might hear them over the storm. He remembered the day they came back from their trip, and Heavy stared between the two of them before clomping away with a mighty chuckle. He remembered how Medic and Spy had caught him by his collar, scrutinizing the red marks on his neck. One let him go with a knowing smile, while the other had stalked away, breathing smoke and looking troubled.

His hand twitched; anyone already suspicious would have their thoughts confirmed in the middle of the night. That wasn’t what really bothered him, though…

There was a quiet shuffling. Thick, hairy muscles wrapped around him, a warm body pressing against his back. A flustered heat rose up in his core, and he twisted the lock without thinking. As soon as it clicked, the man behind him stood on his toes and kissed the nape his neck. Hot breath ghosted down his pajama shirt.

“Nervous?” he asked, almost panting.

He hesitated, unable to spit sarcasm like he usually did. “A bit,” he admitted.

“Ever slept with a man b'fore?”

"Yeh. It wasn’t…well, they…I didn’t…it wasn’t pleasant.“ he bowed his head after the lengthy stutter.

Cold metal fingers slipped under his shirt. "Too rough?” the mechanic took a guess.

“…yeah.”

Strong arms tugged him backwards, and he nearly tripped, shaking as he put one foot behind the other. They bumped the edge of the bed, and the hands moved down to his hips. When he lowered himself to sit, he fell right between the Engineer’s legs. He felt the man's erection nudging him in the back, and he swallowed thickly.

“Best take it slow, then?” he inquired, thumbing his waistband. 

"…I’d like that.“

The bed creaked as the other got on his knees. The marksman shivered when his fingers slid to the front. The other paused when the tremors shook him, then slowly dipped his hand below the waistband.

The Australian snapped his gaze away, strained noises catching in his sternum. Engineer kept to his word, maddeningly so, palming everything sensitive and tracing along the shaft, squeezing occasionally when he was stiff. The Sniper twisted fistfuls of bedsheet, catlike "mrowls” crawling from his throat. 

After a few minutes, the groping stopped, and he was gently pushed to lie down. His partner settled down beside him, and the Sniper wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head. The mechanic wriggled upwards to return the gesture in full, tangling their tongues together. He stroked him behind the ear for a moment before picking at his shirt.

The Sniper pulled back, a glistening strand of saliva marking the intimacy of their wet mouths, then hastily worked the stocky man out of his own.

“Bit frisky, there, ain’t ya?” his companion chuckled, pushing his hips forward. It was slightly above his navel, but the sensation of a hardened cock on his belly made the assassin freeze. It was very clear who held the reigns here, and he wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or intimidated.

He lay there trembling, breathing deeply when his chest was exposed, groaning when the other man rubbed a nipple. The Engineer finally undid the last button, and the two men sat up so that he could properly remove the material. Then he shrugged off his own shirt, leaving them both bare and sweaty.

Tanned skinned made what was usually hidden gleam pale, and they studied each other. The Sniper was toned and slim, thick patches of dark hair blooming out of his chest and stomach. He was just thin enough that his ribs were visible, and he let the Texan run his fingers along them. He himself was quite the opposite, broad chested and bulky muscled, with much sparser hair dusting over his gut. It was blonde and shiny. The marksman pet at it.

They felt each other, rubbing and pinching and squeezing, digging into tense muscles and tracing over imperfections. They let their hands tell them what sight alone could not. Eventually, the gentle caresses turned into something of a strength contest, which ended abruptly when the Sniper was pinned face down. 

Old fears came rushing back, but his friend knew him well. He loosened the grip he had on his wrists, then lay on top of him to rest against his spine. The Australian felt a stubbly cheek nuzzle the small of his back, and he craned his neck to the side, face smushed against the pillows. He cast a half glimpse over his shoulder to look at his aggressor. He wondered how he was able to restrain himself so well, all calm and content when the driving force of this intimacy lay pulsing between their legs. Not to say he wasn’t enjoying the stillness, but if he didn’t take care of it he was going to scream himself mad.

The Engineer sensed his desperation, and slid his left hand into his pants to fondle him again.

“Thought ya weren’t in a hurry,” said the mechanic, as though he were having a delightful conversation. He snickered, a husky dry sound that carried an edge to it, when Sniper ground against his palm in a fit of need. The Texan let him continue for a few moments before severing every inch of contact.

The slim man pined at the sudden loss, rolling over. He was about to complain, but instead widened his eyes, noticing that the shorter man was down to his boxers. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, the Engineer yanked off his pants in one swift tug. It happened so fast that the marksman had no time protest. Well, if he wanted to, anyway.

“Mind helpin’ me outta these, partner?” growled the mechanic, fiddling the edge of his shorts.

The assassin straightened up. “F'course not.” His voice was just as deep, just as unnerving. He was far from afraid, but he was cautious, as though he were a tomcat courting a tabby. He was crafty enough to slip out of a chokehold, but the Engineer outclassed him in strength by a mile. Now would be a bad time to get off his good side.

He slid his thumbs between the elastic, catching between skin and the stretchy material. He gave the Texan a look. The other man stared back intensely, eyes burning expectantly. The Sniper looked back down, slowly pulling his shorts down. Sweaty coarse pubic hair was uncovered, inch by inch, until the man’s swelling erection was freed from its restraint.

The marksman pulled back, gaping at it in alarm. It was hardly extraordinary in length, being about average, but the rest of it was magnificent. The rubicund tip was exposed, and the entirety of it was thick.

The shorter man reciprocated the deed done to him, though slightly less patient than the other. The Sniper kept his head turned, already knowing that his slim prick didn’t match up. His self-consciousness didn’t prevent a warm, intoxicating heat from spreading when he was exposed and his partner took in the view with some lusty, tender glint in his eyes.

The Texan took hold of his wrists, which had fallen limply to his sides. “Don’t be so shy, darlin’. Ain’t nothin t’ be ashamed of.”

He couldn’t bring himself to admit he wasn’t too good with his hands. With a stare dead in the eyes as his only warning, Sniper forced him down and vigorously started thrusting. Moans and grunts were overshadowed by the storm outside, the shrieks of old springs outshone by another peal of thunder. Lucky it did, too; the Sniper wasn’t exactly quiet when his friend switched their positions.

“You," he huffed, breath ragged and fraught with arousal, "you mind if I try somethin’, Slim?”

The marksman stiffened. "…wh-what d'you have in mind?“

The other man averted his gaze, seemingly embarrassed. "Ah, well, it’s,” one hand trickled down, settling on the gunman’s thigh before digging underneath to grope his ass. “nothin’ much.”

A surge of pleasant dread embedded itself in his gut. Panic began to sweep its prickly thorns through him, but his heart stuttered when those familiar eyes fixed on his. The room resonated with only the sounds of the storm, and the heavy panting of the two mercenaries.

Finally, Sniper rumbled breathlessly, “Go ahead.”

The mechanic sat up, taking the Sniper’s legs and propping them up slightly. The assassin set his head back, willing his body to relax. Two spit-slicked fingers entered him, and he winced at the intrusion, but kept his mouth shut, even when the shorter man went up to his knuckles. After a moment, he removed them. The Sniper stiffened anxiously.

"Take it easy, partner,“ he said as he hocked a glob of mucous on the same hand, proceeding to moisten his cock, "you’ll be alright. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The marksman watched him dry the extremity on the sheets. Then his companion was hovering over him, staring intensely, waiting for him. The Sniper cleared his mind, until he could trust himself not to panic. One deep, shaking breath later, he nodded. 

A low groan rattled his throat. His friend took him hard and slow, husky noises seething wispily through his teeth. The marksman gnawed the inside of his cheek as the Texan buried deeper, the spit doing the trick for everything but the uncomfortable throbbing within him.

Fingers brushed over his wilted cock. He hadn’t even realized he had gone limp. His slender girth twitched under Engineer’s warm hand. Beads of moisture formed on the head, and he circled with his thumb, smearing the tip. The Sniper became aware of the full sensation leaving him for a moment, then writhing and grunting as the Texan eased into him again.

“Doin’ okay?” he queried, penis in hand.

“Could be worse,” panted the marksman,“augh…” He shuddered when the other man pulled out.

“Nothin’ hurts?”

The Australian coughed out a breath. “…mite thick fer…ahh!” Prickles of painful pleasure rushed to his cock. The smaller man had thrust against a sensitive spot. He pulled out, pushed in, pressing a little harder. Sniper clung to him however he could, biting back moans trapped in his rusty throat. He felt the scratch of stubble on stubble scrape past his cheek, warm lips kiss behind his jaw, damp fingers stroke his messy hair.

“Just relax, darlin’. I’ve got you…" 

The Sniper closed his eyes, a strong surge of yearning striking his heart, making him whimper. Engineer kept at an even pace, occasionally ruffling his hair, whispering encouragement, or growling in his ear. The tiniest rumbles, the deepest, sensual moans served well to spike his pleasure, catching in his chest and pooling throughout him in a molten puddle. The pain was long gone, and it was only a matter of time.

He slowly began to move, trying to match the rhythm of his lover. Rugged sounds escaped him as he was gently rutted, and his partner retuned the affection with calls of his own. Heat and pressure built up inside of him, filling to the brim, and a tender nip on the side of his neck was the final straw. Thick, hot streams of semen spilled from his cock, slicking their bellies and dribbling down his sides. The Engineer caught it after him, and the bushman felt his cock twitch inside of him as they held on to each other, shuddering and gasping till the ride was over. 

His friend pulled out one final time, collapsing onto him and snuggling into his chest. Sniper rubbed his hands up and down his back, helping him remember to breathe as he reminded himself. Now that his mind was clearing, his nose was suddenly clogged with the heavy scents of the room they were sharing. There was the dusty cotton smells from the sheets, dampened earth and pine from the shady storm, as well as the sour scent of sweat and sex from their nightly romp.

He suddenly felt drained from their actions; it hadn’t seemed like a long time, but he was as groggy as if he had climbed a mountain of some great height. Engineer was tuckered out as much as he was, he suspected, so he kissed him on the ear before rumbling a gravelly "g'night." 

He said something back, and the three words took a moment to register in his foggy mind. When they did, his eyes cracked open in mild surprise. The words curled into his heart, warm claws puncturing his veins and instilling his blood with sweet venom, and only when he accepted the truth in them did he fall asleep. It was the most content he had ever felt in his life.

****

They were quick getting showered and dressed in the morning. The duo thudded quietly towards the kitchen, and within minutes the smells of breakfast permeated the atmosphere. Other members of the team began to stir and bumble into the mess hall, and if they were aware of any nighttime activities they gave no indication. Just in case, the two of them kept at a distance, exchanging grins and stares.

In all honesty, they wanted to try that again soon.

Sniper was the first to leave. He cleared his dishes, left them to dry, then went to get ready for the rest of the day. Engineer took his time a bit more, musing over thoughts and smirking to himself. He’d meant what he said. Every last word.

His head was thick with feverish thoughts when he bumped into Soldier. He stumbled over an apology and was about to go on his way when the crazy man seized him by the overalls and lifted him off the ground. He sneered at him from beneath his helmet.

"H-hey, uh, sarge? What’d I do?” the Texan stuttered out. Speech wasn’t his strong suit in the morning.

“You’re lucky I’m not crushing your skull, stuffing you in a box and sending your ass back to Texas, shorty.”

The hairs on his neck stood up. “What?”

He leaned in close. Very, very close. The next sentence came weighted, each syllable chewed and spit before it passed his crooked teeth.

“ I saw him FIRST.”

He dropped the man and stomped away without another word.


	6. Overnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pros: More dicks! Sniper tops! Bisexual Sniper! Established friendship!   
> Cons: 1st Person POV, though I'm told I did well with it. More focused on train of thought than descriptive words.

I wasn’t sure how we ended up like that. When I woke up, I mean. I couldn’t remember everything. Just that it had happened at some point last night. I’d rubbed the grit and snot out of my eyes before trying to focus on my best mate. Well, we had to be a lot more than that by the time we were done there, but…ah, I don’t know. I’m just so used to calling him a friend.

Where was I? Oh, right. Well, it all started when we were told to pack up and hit the road. All of us, the other team included. All the way from Hoodoo to Coldfront. Group travel, they said. It’s convenient, they said. Damn shit, that’s what. Thankfully, we were all sensible gentlemen on the way here. Hard to believe, looking back at it. 

Now, here’s the thing. BLU and RED? We’re supposed to hate each other, and…well, let’s just say this. Take me and the other Spy. We’re damn good at our jobs. Professionals to the core and all that (I’m the better one, don’t let him fool you). Put us in the same room? That all goes to hell. I’ll leave it at that. No, really. You don’t want to know. It's that bad and I hate talking about it.

Anyway, we were driving and I was getting almost sick of looking at all the desert. Well, maybe I was getting sick of the road. The desert was just fine, all covered in sand and one cactus every goddamn mile or so. The road? No, that must’ve been it. It had no end. It kept reminding me that I had passengers.

I can trust myself to keep my temper in check, but I have my limits. Lucky I had Pyro for company. I’m not sure when he’s off in his little cuckoo-land, but sometimes he knows when to snap out of it. He’s a good little bugger. The ones that were tagging along in the homey part of my van? Not so much, and damn them if I caught anyone snooping around in there. 

Whenever we’d creep up on some tattered dwindling of civilization, you can imagine how fast I’d jump out of the driver’s seat. I’d forget that we had been travelling for nearly three hours, so I’d stumble from all the pins and needles in my legs. I’d sit there for a bit, watching everyone pour out of my van. Then I’d give my home a quick once over to make sure everything stayed put, then go join up with the lot of them. I was like that every time we had to gas up, piss, or eat on the way (oh, that was a goddamn hassle, let me tell you).

Did I get mocked for my paranoia? Of course, but let’s not go mentioning any names here. Besides, why should I worry? Why should I care? If I can’t trust ‘em as far as I can throw 'em, that’s their fault, not mine. Well, I thought maybe I should start spending more to cover up all those personal treasures I lug around all the time, so I resolved to do just that when we got to Alaska. If such a thing were possible. Which, as I discovered, where we were stationed at was a very, very bad place for business. Ah, well. Leave everything up to the trains again, I suppose.

I was just happy that our damn employers knew that it wasn’t a one day trip from a dusty gulch to a frozen wasteland. They didn’t care when we showed up, as long as we were there within a week or so. I kept looking forward to the hour where we had to stop for the night, especially when it looked like we were about to have a change of scenery. Most importantly, my van would be locked up tight, and no one would be in there (the best part, if you were wondering). 

We all made sure to rest up at a decent hotel, at the very least. “Shady” should never be confused with “shoddy”. Out of the eighteen of us, most of us could do with crashing anywhere, but some of us were stuck-up fancy pants in suits carrying more than a few knives. “Decent” wouldn’t settle for some of us. However, those exceptions in our group kindly shut up and bared it for once. It wasn’t like we were seeking out someplace so terrible that even rats wouldn’t live in it…

I’m sorry. That wasn’t too nice, was it? 

That all aside, we agreed to let the engineers deal with the reservation problem. We all went in as a group, which was very disorienting to me, so I began to wander around a bit. I just needed to keep me distance from some people. Not all of them had something against me, but there were three men in particular that would lovingly tear me asunder. 

The other Heavy isn’t too fond of being target practice, but as much as I’ve managed to piss him off he hasn’t taken me down personally. A mini-gun suffices better than his fists, in my case (poor Truckie had a wrench shoved down his throat one time). Their Sniper isn’t a friendly bloke, either. We’ve run into each other in a couple of rough fights, usually trying to find a better place to set up. Sometimes we cross blades if we’re out of bullets, and because of me he’s got a long, jagged scar right up along his jaw. He hates me for that. Speaking of blades, there’s also their Spy. I’ve already talked about him, and I daresay that our Spy is extremely tolerable compared to him.

I hovered behind the group once the evening arrangements were all sorted out. The engineers explained that it was all two men to a room. I thought that was odd, since we were so rich. We each could’ve had a room to ourselves. Hell, any one of us could’ve bought the place if we felt like it.

I was busy mulling it over, when I felt our Spy lean over to me, which conjured up a bit of discomfort. He always seemed to disregard personal space, always liked to get a little too close to people. He was barely pressing his weight against my shoulder.

"I hope they have two beds,“ he whispered, that last word making my skin itch. Some of the men peered over to look at us, and I imagined something coiling around my neck. I nudged him away, feeling apprehensive all of a sudden.

"Shut up and listen!” I hissed. 

"…now, that means two of us’ll be on opposite teams.“ one of them finished. He said it like he knew there were going to be objections. Our Demoman picked one of the keys right from his hand. Then he started walking away. 

"Jane,” he called without looking back. The other Soldier immediately followed him. No one questioned them.

It wasn’t so hard dealing out the rest of them. Every man wanted to share a room with a mate or someone tolerable. Some were lucky, others weren’t, but it was only one night. It shouldn’t have been so hard.

"Stretch.“ one of the engineers addressed me. It was the bloke on my team. He was dangling a key between two fingers. "You n’ me.”

It shouldn't have been so hard.

I sneezed. Right after dropping my boots in the doorway, I could tell it was going to be a long night. The whole place reeked of roses, paint and lemons (I assumed the lemon smell was coming from the privy).

"Bless you,“ said my companion, oh-so charmingly, like he didn’t know what his voice did to me.

"Thanks,” I muttered, slightly less irritated. I felt a tad shaken, knowing that we were sharing a room together. Alone. Away from everyone. Not a chance of them barreling in there. 

We exchanged a few words, none of which I can remember, except that I mentioned a shower. I hadn’t gotten a chance to take one before we left, which was probably a good thing, since I had an escape. He said “alright, take your time” or some rubbish that made me tremble. I’d been getting worse around him, and I knew exactly why.

I shut the door and threw my pyjamas next to the sink. After flicking the fan on I started pulling my clothes off. I didn’t care where they landed, they just piled in a cluttered heap. I turned on the faucet and waited for the shower to reach a comfortable temperature. I hopped in when it was lukewarm, and my mind began to wander. Back to Engineer, as if I could figure out when it happened, and why that it was.

The day we met was nothing important. Hell, first day on the job I stayed away from everyone. Then, in the mess hall, this little guy sits next to me. We introduced ourselves, but I made it clear that I wasn’t in the mood for any other pleasantries.

I squeezed some of that lemony shampoo in my hand, then worked the soap into my scalp. I ran my fingers through my hair, momentarily distracted by the feel of it. It always got so soft when water flowed through it.

There was one day that got us talking a lot more. On Gorge, I think. I needed to restock, so I ran down to him. I glanced over half the time I was collecting bullets from the dispenser. When I was all loaded up, I turned around to thank him. His sentry fired off a few rounds and missiles, and I saw it kill the other sniper.

“Down Under? More like six-feet under.” He said it all through a dark chuckle. I don’t think that he noticed me there, not till I wandered off. I don’t remember what I was thinking about him, but I know it was something horrible.

"Gah!“

I shut my eyes tightly, grumbling curses as I rubbed at them. I had gotten soap in them. It stung like goddamn needles. I tilted my head towards the direction of the shower head.

That evening, after a long day of playing "keep-away”, the next thing I knew he was knocking on my door. I could’ve ignored him. I would’ve carried that little grudge all the way to my grave, if I ever make it there. I caved in and opened it up. It was out of ambivalence, if anything. 

He was standing there, gripping a white stetson in his hands and trying to look taller. I would’ve called the act pitiful, but I was distracted by his right hand. Normally, he wore a thick glove over that hand, but I never would’ve guessed that it was made of metal. I wondered if he considered punching a hole in my van if I didn’t answer.

"Can I come in?“ he asked, all hopeful and nervous. It was a simple question, something I was usually prepared to respond to. 

"No.”

He looked down, and I suddenly noticed what else was different. He wasn’t wearing his goggles.

"Well, ah…sorry to bother you, Stretch. Just, uh, sorry 'bout earlier.“

I stepped out then. "I didn’t say that you had to leave, Truckie.”

I went for the soap bar, digging a thumb in the middle of it to keep it from slipping; it crumbled in half instead. I kicked one of the pieces up the side of the tub and caught it. I was scrubbing my skin as if something poisonous had gotten all over me. I ended up looking like I’d been scratching some terrible itch. I wondered briefly if I should cut my nails, then kicked myself for getting off track.

Our’s was one of those friendships that got off on the wrong foot. It was my fault for misjudging him, but then he dropped by and fixed that. It turned out we behaved very much alike; we were decent to our teammates, gave our rivals a fair shot, and anyone who was a cheating dirty son of a bitch got a foot up their arse and our honest opinion. We’ve shot down soldiers, gunned down heavies, backed up our team and bludgeoned to death too many spies to count. There wasn’t a mountain too high, a valley too low, no river too wide, no chasm deep enough to keep apart a pair like he and I.

That was when I started…appreciating his existence. I began to admire how strong he was, how easygoing he got, how he’d step in and take charge and cool down an argument if one ever arose. It was even more impressive that everyone seemed to listen to him, that no one tried to back talk him (something I envied, if I ever had something to say).

Then I really began to take a look at him. I kept paying attention to little quirks in his features, little gestures he did whenever he was happy. Or sad, or what have you. I really lov–liked his smile. It was one that you’d lo–want to be the reason for. His voice is nothing to scoff at, either. He could soothe you out of your worries, raise your hackles at just what kind of doom he intended to reign on you, or he’d just…talk to you, in that warm drawl he’s always got.

I hurriedly stepped over the edge of the tub and reached for a towel. The water chilled on my body pretty quick, and I ignored it in favor of drying off. I ruffled my head a little bit after getting the rest of me, then stepped on it to wipe up the floor. Then I noticed the mirror. A sense of curiosity overtook me. I smeared the fog off the glass, tossing my towel aside. 

I stared at my reflection for a while. Specifically, my eyes. They were sharp old things, even if they were too clear in color. The looked like wrens eggs, but those were more of a pasty blue. Mine were grayish and stormy, if I had to pick an adjective. I could understand why it was hard to keep eye contact with me. I wished that they were a darker color, like brown or hazel. Maybe they’d look better.

Still, though, it was one trait that I shared with Engineer, even if his looked nicer. His were a rich, deep blue. Not like the sky, though, and they didn’t look like an ocean, either. They were so damn blue they were almost purple.

I sighed, still wishing. For other things, like they way I saw him before. I didn’t want to be…attracted to him, but I didn’t want to deny it, either. It was too late for that.

I slammed a fist on the counter, and the pain got me thinking again. I’d been caught up with some people, blokes and sheilas, but they never lasted. I was impeccably shallow, whether someone was in it for a lay, or they were trying to find “that special someone”, but I was never the one to go after them. They all went for me. 

Then he came along, and now I had no idea what to do anymore.

I put my face in my hands and just started squeezing. I began seeing stars, and that’s when I realized that I was pressing into my temples, so I just held my face instead.

I couldn’t ask him. There was no way to bring it up. I couldn’t lose him. I’d never find someone like him again. I’d be dead before I did, if I could even die anymore.

If I’d fallen for a lady, at least that would’ve been normal. No one would be criticized. No one would have to be disgusted. No one would think to send hell my way. No, my fucking…I just…I just had to fall for a bloke, didn’t I?! It just had to be that way!

I stayed there for awhile, hunched over the counter. I thought I would start sobbing at any second, but I didn’t. I was heaving pretty badly, though, trying to steel myself. Calm down. Think it over. It’d been hell, not being able to say something, but I’d gotten through two years of it, so I could’ve done it another night.

I felt torn apart, but I told myself I was fine. I pawed the sink for my clothes, and my hand bumped into a towel. A soaking, cold, wet towel. I looked over and saw that it was covering them.

"Oh no,“ I lifted the cloth up. Two large, damp spots spread across my sleep ware, the only ones I’d brought up there. ”Goddamn it!“ I slammed my fist again, only to bring it back up and shake the pain from it.

I huffed, completely miserable. I couldn’t go out there looking like I pissed myself (wet pyjamas were uncomfortable anyway), but I couldn’t go out in the nude, either. Not unless I wanted to embarrass myself, or raise some questions (take that last bit however you want, wanker).

I took down another towel and wrapped it around my waist, tucking the edges in. I hung up my clothes on the rack, turned towards the door, and prayed that nothing would go wrong.

"Howdy,” called that damn sexy–called my dearest friend in the world. He was lying back on one of the beds, wearing nothing but his shorts. I tried not to stare at him, so I looked at the lamp instead. “I heard ya yellin’. Everything okay?”

"Clothes got all wet. I’m not wearin’ that shit.“ I swore when I got anxious.

He whistled. "How’d that happen?”

"It was accidental.“ I wished that he’d stop asking. "What’re you watching?”

"Nothin’. Too late to be runnin’ any good shows.“ He flicked the channels absentmindedly, or it at least seemed that way.

"Yeah.” I sat down on the other mattress, throwing back the covers. “I’m gonna try tahahaoww!" I shot up too damn quick.

"I beg yer pardon?” I really wanted to sock him for that.

Something very sharp had poked me in the back. Usually, it was because a knife was being carved into my spine, and I panicked whenever someone touched me there. It turned out to be an old spring, sprouting out of the bed like a smug little daisy. 

I relaxed. “Just a spring. Fucking staff’s too lazy to replace it.”

"Damn. ’s rough night for you, innit?“ He moved over a few centimeters or so, patting the spot next to him. "Y'all can come over here, if ya’d like.”

’No no no no!!’my head started screaming at me. Various alarm bells and red flags went up, in fact. It could’ve been my imagination, but the way he invited me…it sounded like…no, no, it hadn’t. It hadn't sounded like he was taunting me, and it hadn't sounded like he wanted to…it was…I was just being delusional.

I had done the smart thing: assumed it was only for companionship. I tried not to be too self-conscience over the towel when I went by him, but I did do some adjusting. Our shoulders wedged together, and while I nearly had a heart-attack, he laughed it off and slid an arm around me. 

He was right, it was too late for anything good to be on. We were thirsty for entertainment, however, and just about anything would do at that time of night. 

I was hardly paying attention. Part of me was enjoying being so close to him, even if he was sweaty and his grip was making my shoulders cramp up. That feeling started to grow a bit, and I was staring at his face before long. He was all scruffy and stubbly, which was a good look for him. I had no idea why he shaved his head so much, but I thought that maybe a bit of hair would look nice on him. Hell, there was…too much that would look nice on him. He had a bloody handsome face, and I couldn’t stop staring. 

I must have started to doze off, because suddenly I had to look up. I’d been leaning into his neck, and he had shut off the telly when he noticed. His arm peeled off me, and he propped up on his elbow to support himself. I looked him in the eye. He looked slightly angry.

"Tell me somethin’, Slim,“ he muttered dangerously, "is there anything you don't trust me with?" 

”…Huh?“

His gaze drifted lower, and suddenly I felt a little too awake. I was…I was…I didn’t need to look. I just had to run.

I tried to get away from him, but his right arm shot out and held me fast. There was no struggling out of a metal fist. He pulled me closer, his expression unchanged.

"Truckie it’s…i-it’s not what you think I swear! I didn’t mean t–!”

"Jus’ shut up for a lil’ bit, will ya, son?“

His lips covered mine, and I forgot what I was going to say. His other hand–his warm, sweaty, human hand–curled around my neck. Smooth metal trailed up my spine, and whatever nervous noise I made got swallowed up when his poked his tongue in my mouth. My nerves kicked in, and I wrapped around him and started kissing back. 

When we pulled away, I felt relieved. Yes, my blood was boiling and I was stiff as a pole, but I could relax. It was okay. The world was still spinning and I didn’t have to worry anymore. I was still a little surprised, however, when he pushed forward and rubbed his crotch against mine.

"Got somethin’ you wanna share with me, Mr. Conagher?” I huffed. His face was longing and desperate, something I could relate to.

"I want ya real bad right now,Stretch.“ he drawled, trudging over every word. I tentatively returned that little nudge he gave me, and he started looking hopeful.

At that, we tossed everything aside. It didn’t take long, only a few seconds before we were kneeling on the bed, all exposed and such. We’d seen each other like this before, but we didn't stare, and we certainly weren’t putting our pricks to good use. 

His was rather thick compared to mine, and perhaps a little shorter. It still looked like it’d be difficult to take in, and I silently hoped that he was a gentle fella. I didn’t want to bite my knuckles till they bled again.

"Got anything slippery?” I asked quietly, turning around to look at my saxophone case. Cork grease would’ve done the job if he didn’t have anything, and I thought it’d be interesting to have minty-pine smelling cocks.

"Yeah, here.“ he held out a bottle of lubricant. I started to ask him why he was handing it over, but then it dawned on me. My hands began to shake, and I curled them up before he could notice, but I think he saw them anyway. He started to lean back a little, and fear picked away at my nerves like tiny little jackhammers.

There was no way around it, I decided. I asked him all sorts of questions, like how rough I should be and how did he want this done. Like anyone, he assumed that I was talking dirty, but in truth I just didn’t like to beat around the bush about these things. I wanted to know. I was nervous.

Everything snapped into place for a moment after that, and I found myself leaning over him. He curled around me. A few words of reassurance and a couple of pecks in between helped him relax, and I slipped into him without too much difficulty. He was still quite tense when I tried to fit a little deeper, so I tried to loosen up and go a bit slower. If I had to judge by all the harsh growling he was making, I’d say it’d been a while for him.

I started to have some doubts about how I was going at it. I thought maybe I was hurting him, and he didn’t want to speak up.Then he made a particularly loud noise, and suddenly he was pulling me down and clawing at my back. I winced when I felt him clench up, one of his hands wrap around my neck again, and almost start to choke me. I tensed up myself, and struggled to keep still.

He was…quite a sight, at that point. Half turned away, sweat rolling down his forehead, red as a goddamn sunset, eyes all heavy and deep…I still wonder how I was the cause of that. 

He started squirming, and I heard him grumble. ”…if I’d a known I w’s in the presence of a perfess'nal…the hell’d you stop for?“

"Ya need t’ relax. ’S gonna hurt something terrible if ya don’t.” My voice had gotten raspy, dipping a bit lower than usual. I was holding back, just for him. Well, that and I’d been in his position a few times with the wrong sorts of people. Great way to find out whether or not you’re a masochist. 

"A-alright,“ he breathed, almost euphorically, and I waited for him to adjust himself before I started taking him again. ”…got a bit a girth on ya, though.“ I almost pulled out to see if he was serious, but then I remembered there was such a thing as flattery. Even so, for a second or two we were grinning like a couple of bleeding idiots. 

I took my time, tried to wring him out as best I could. Every time I slid in just right, he’d start pining like a kitten, digging his nails into my skin. I let him scratch away, even if he was that close to drawing blood. 

"Slim, please…” he begged, desperate and keening, “I cain’t hold out…I–” He all but cried when I wrapped my hand around him.

"Just a little longer.“ I whispered, and he made this agonizing groan that cut through me like a damn chainsaw. I kissed his forehead, rocking at a gentle pace. Flesh and metal dug into my back as I continued to ridiculously overwhelm him. 

It wasn’t until he bit me that I let him go. When I did, he held me tight, muffling the sounds he made by burying into my clavicle. His release coated our chests and stomachs in a thick, sticky puddle. I pulled out after he was finished, but I was still a little ways from being brought off. I wriggled free, then rolled over and tended to myself. Well, I would have, but about a minute or so later the crazy little man reached over and coaxed me back to face him.

Even if I was undeserving of whatever attention he wanted to give me, I couldn’t look away. He had that gorgeous smile of his, the one I saw everyday and thought the world of, but it was all the more intensifying without his goggles. His eyes were dark and gentle, thick with color. They didn’t bore through me or anything, but they looked into me, like I was a wide open book. The depth of it all, his gaze…it startled me. I almost thought I could die in those eyes.

He came a little closer, and I swore my heart was tying itself into knots and ribbons. I didn’t even mind. No one else had been able to do that. No one.

"Here, lemme get that for you…”

It was barely anything, just a little bit of rubbing. The fucking sensations, however, I couldn’t even start to hold myself together. He was spent and soft, sure, but that somehow made it more maddening. Not only that, he was slick with his own fluids. He was slick because I was there. I was the one who did that to him.

Long story short, we made a bit of a mess together.

For a while, we just laid in each other’s company. We didn’t care about much else, or the world, or what time it was. Well, at least I didn’t. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he was happy to be with me at least. I hoped that we’d be like that for a long, long time. In different ways, of course. Life’s a lot more than swimming in semen, and, well, other…you know what? That was disgusting. Pretend you didn’t hear that. I’m sorry.

After an eternity, Engineer broke the silence. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” I turned away. I felt like I was burning up. “Wish I knew you swung that way earlier." 

I cleared my throat nervously. "Actually, I’m pretty open-minded.”

That took a second to sink in. “Really now?” he paused, and just when I thought he wouldn’t ask…“How many fellas and ladies have you given the time?”…and there it was.

Had he been anyone else, I would’ve told him to piss off. Since I actually wanted to try out being committed to someone, it was his business. That didn’t make it anymore comfortable to say, shockingly.

"Other way 'round, Truckie,“ I admitted, sighing. "How many more than the other doesn’t mean a lick. I’m not used to bein’ in charge.”

"Well, dang, son.“ He was quiet for a bit, then said, "You did a damn fine job of it.”

I yawned, stretching my aching bones. “Did I?”

He goddamn snuggled into me. “Wouldn’t lie to you, darlin’." 

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "I appreciate the treasure trove of nicknames." 

We only stayed up for an hour after that. Ate a sandwich, dropped by the ice machine, had a drink and laughed too hard at a cartoon we found by a stroke of luck. Of course, the morning was rough on us, what with the rushed cleaning and sharing a shower, but we managed to get ready on time. He made sure to pair us together every stop we had from that point on, and I didn’t mind. Not one bit.

We’re still doing fine, nowadays. If I had to be honest? I wish I would’ve told him a lot sooner. I had no idea he was right there in reach.


	7. Damn Mistletoe

A frigid blizzard howled outside the bases, pelting the structures with snow. The battle had died down and a truce had been called. Not because of the weather, of course, but because it was after hours, the time when the eighteen mercenaries should be turning in and calling it a day. Still, a small vacation would eventually creep around the corner to greet them all. The holidays were upon them. Now, many of them celebrated a little differently, be it Christmas or Chanukah, and because they each wanted to celebrate their respective holiday, they crushed them together and called it Smissmas. No one knew who coined the term “Smissmas”, but the locals were strange enough, and everyone dismissed the tidbit of knowledge entirely.

It didn’t matter to anyone, and they were more so interested by the scenery, which became increasingly cozy as time went on. In fact, near the end of the first week of December, the whole complex was lit up and decorated like the colourful burst of a firecracker. Many of them hopped back a few steps to get a good look at their handiwork, which had required a team effort. From tying together scraps of last year’s tinsel, scrounging up every available extension cord, checking and double checking every light bulb and picking out the stubborn ones that refused to spark, it seemed that the holiday spirit had snatched them up and woke the desire to replicate fond memories of ages ago.

Unfortunately, there were those in the teams who slacked off in the grand task. Not that they hated it, but they tended to avoid the hustle and bustle if they could help it. Because of this, some of their teammates saw fit to deck the halls with the one item that couples seemed to flock under during the season. Everyone was careful to avoid it, but unless they were the ones who did the decorating, it was tricky to spot until two of the men had the misfortune to wander beneath it.

The Spy was all too happy to bring that to light. He would lurk near the hallway in hopes of the occasion. Most of the mercenaries assumed that he did this out of boredom, but he was uncharacteristically cheery about it. It just so happened that, on that night, the closest of friends were caught in this predicament, neither realizing their mistake until it was too late.

A polite cough caught the duo’s attention. They whirled around to see the Spy pointing above them with a wolfish grin. They craned their necks, widening their eyes in panic. A withered green speckled with white drops dangled mockingly over their heads.

The Sniper narrowed his gaze tiredly, tempted to pick the mistletoe and toss it away. The Engineer looked away, scowling furiously at his socks. Neither of them was fond of the tradition that frolicked around the little plant. Worse still was that they had an audience. One man, perhaps even three would have been bearable, but the whole team was gathered in the rec room. Granted, some of them were more interested in the television, but most of them had perked up at the sound that the saboteur had made. No, they would not be able to live this down, not even long after the holiday spirit had dried up. They were too close, almost inseparable.

“Well, go on.” the Spy said, gesturing for them to move on each other. The Sniper ignored him, giving the unsavory plant an irritated flick.

“Spy, be reasonable.” the Texan said, trying to cover his embarrassment with anger.

“I am. You two have done nothing to settle in for Smissmas, so I am forcing you to participate.”

A few protests bubbled up in their minds. The Sniper, clad in a thick leather coat instead of his usual vest, thought about showing the Spy all of the knitting he had done, even if it was a year round pastime of his. The Engineer, sporting a thick woolen sweater over his typical work shirt, wanted to complain that all of his extension cords were gone because of the decorations they insisted on having. Unfortunately, for the most part, the Spy was right. Aside from the occasional brewing of hot chocolate and nibbling on candy canes, they tended to avoid the other mercenaries when they were struck with the irrational spirit of Smissmas.

The two friends looked at each other uncomfortably, too polite to simply rush off and ignore the occurrence. Neither of them wanted to lean in, and feared that they would start at the same time. Eventually, the Sniper fiddled with the brim of his hat. His eyebrows went skyward for a moment, and he suddenly looked at the Spy.

“All we have to do is kiss, right?”

“Yes. Then you may leave.”

That was all he needed to hear. In one swift motion, the sharpshooter swiped off his hat, covering his and the mechanic’s face from view. He leaned down, planting a quick peck on the shorter man’s forehead, replaced his hat, and strode off. The contact had been brief, but the Engineer was red up to his ears, his arms apart and stiff. Some of the onlookers expressed their disappointment in the huntsman’s actions, but it was short lived.

The Texan noticed the same tinge of disappointment on the Spy’s face. He decided to explain. “He’s a man of statistics.”

Without waiting for an answer, he hurried after the other man.

—-

Keeerrr-CHUNK.

The bulky door echoed profoundly in the open workshop. It was mildly ominous, coupling with the moaning whistle of the storm outside. A thick glass window near the ceiling offered a glimpse to the dark beast, howling and clawing at the base in its fury.

“Did ya really plan on getting any sleep in here?” he asked the man reclining against the tool racks. He looked up, tilting his head.

“Well, yeah,” he confessed, calm and gravelly. The warm scrape of his voice contrasted wonderfully in the cold gloom of the workshop. The Engineer heard him clear his throat as he wandered closer. “Wasn’t gonna let a goddamn sprig keep me from it.” He watched the mechanic remove his hardhat, his gaze lingering as it wobbled on a nearby table. The goggles were the next to go.

“Close call we had back there,” said the Engineer. He reached out and embraced the taller man. He looked into his eyes, which glinted like sapphire without the obscuring yellow aviators.

“Yeah, close,” he responded. The gunman hunched over, and they kissed. Nice and slow, and the chill in the air began to scorch them. They knew that they were alone, and the thoughts made them more eager to grasp and hold, pull closer despite the lack of breath. The Engineer’s hand trailed lower, gripping a thin leg and pulling it up to his thigh. The Sniper tugged on his overalls. A thick roll of the hips made them both whimper. It wasn’t enough to spark lust, but the comfortable friction made their hearts race, their stomachs tingle with warmth.

They pulled apart and pressed their foreheads together. They reveled in the closeness, the shared heat, and their hands on each other. After a moment, the Sniper opened his mouth and expelled an enormous yawn. His breath was moist, tinged with chocolate and alcohol, and something faintly smoky. The mechanic heard his jaw crick as it snapped shut.

“You really are tired,” said the Engineer. His friend hummed pleasantly, eyelids growing heavy. He stroked his neck. “Think I could join you?”

The Sniper took a moment to answer. “Hm. Wouldn’t mind. Why?”

“I want to know what it’s like.”

“Sleeping?”

“Well, what’s special about the weather? I thought you hated storms that rattled the windows.”

The Sniper nodded, mumbling something about tornados. “Can’t get ‘em in a blizzard,” he concluded messily.

The Engineer stroked his neck again, understanding. He kept an arm around the man, even when they had crawled into bed. They drew together and remained as such, even when they were coated with sweat. The shorter man took longer to fall asleep, but in spite of that he quickly began to realize why his friend found it easy to slumber in these eerie conditions. The harsh wind’s howling urged him to crawl beneath a thick comforter, and the chill that pierced through the cracks inspired him to bury himself within them, until the roaring had died and the air was still.

The Sniper was barely awake when he felt the other burrow close to him, but he was lively enough to respond to it. He curled his free arm around the man and pressed his nose onto his head. He liked this better, he decided, with someone he could depend on at his side, burying close and wanting to be with him.

As the team sang their songs and celebrated a bit too early in the month, the storm howled on, lulling the two friends to sleep. They kept like that until the night swept away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you made it. Congrats on not backing out of here! Hope you were satisfied with the trove of naps and throat kisses and this out-of-season holiday bit at the end.
> 
> ...maybe, MAYBE, I'll revisit TF2 when the comics are over. I definitely have an Overwatch crossover in mind with this beat-up game. Still weathers out over other FPS. Just wish the characters weren't loaded with Valve's canon. Made 'em more malleable, just knowing bits and pieces instead of a whole whacked-up story. (Overwatch, I feel, handles it better, because it was planned out that way, it seems. TF2 was thrown together on the way. Good for season deals and updates, but I don't think it was meant to handle something as big as Ring of Fired.)
> 
> Well. I'll be over in obscure places, probably never to return.


End file.
